


i just want to love you in my own language

by getmean



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Era, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, found family (found pack), it lines up more with the events of eugene's book but whatever, ultra canon right ?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getmean/pseuds/getmean
Summary: The sensation of biting through skin - resistance and then nothing, meat parting around his fangs and a wash of black blood like iron. Shelton was the rifle and he was the bullet, the powder and the ignition and he never ran empty.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so i had an idea for snafu being a part of an combat werewolf Squad ever since doing some research for a paper and coming across info about working dogs during world war II ! it's pretty interesting i was like okay that could be hot and like, i thought i was being clever calling them the devil dogs because you know, it's a nickname for marines. 
> 
> this fic mostly follows canon for the most part but a lot of the okinawa part especially is based mostly off of events eugene outlines in his book, so it doesn't follow the show perfectly in the latter half.
> 
> anyway i hope you enjoy this was just meant to be short and sexy and about snafu like, tearing out throats as a werewolf but my longwinded ass wouldn't settle for it
> 
> title from 3WW by alt-j and thank u to jo for letting me talk at her about this au whenever i was at work, lmao.

The first thing Shelton noticed about Pavuvu was the smell. Rotting coconuts and shit and sweat and the overwhelming brine smell of the sea. Testosterone and bad coffee and worse food. It took a while to acclimatise, and he spent the first week in his bunk with his face pressed into the scratchy wool of his blanket from home, cursing his sharp fucking senses. It made him feel sick in the back of his throat, the smell, the noise of too many men in a space too small for them. The anxiety and the anticipation smelled like the taste of old spoons, and it overflowed in the small camp until Shelton felt choked by it.

He wasn’t allowed to shift, not outside of battle, so he took a lot of long walks and tried to ignore how itchy it made him feel. The other Dogs were faring just as badly as him, and he couldn’t stand to be around them. He’d never liked the company of other werewolves, didn’t like their stink in his nostrils or the way they were so ready to fight at a moment’s notice. He didn’t know whose goddamn idea it was to create a company of werewolves, but they were a goddamn idiot in his opinion. The only thing a forcibly put together pack was good for is tearing out each other’s jugulars, but he guessed humans wouldn’t know the first thing about that anyway. 

He smoked a lot of cigarettes, and did his best not to tear himself out of his skin at the merest provocation. Boot camp was bad, but this sitting and waiting with the stink of too many humans in his nose, it made boot camp seem like a goddamn day at the spa.

And then: battle. The warm rush of arterial blood over his muzzle, salty and hot and tasting like pennies. The other Dogs complained of the taste, saying the Japanese taste like shit, but blood is blood and meat is meat, and Shelton couldn’t taste the difference. He was smaller than the other Dogs, but he was fast and he was scrappy and battle got his hackles up, his blood racing. 

It felt good to be in his wolf form again after so many weeks of not being allowed to shift. It was comfortable, it was _him_ , and his wolf brain clouded all the misgivings and the fears his unshifted brain had about war. The wolf inside him wanted to tear skin and taste blood and leave all that came after to his almost-human self. In the heat of battle he was just four legs and sharp eyes, ears, nose, a set of too-big too-deadly teeth. And God, he was good at it. 

Afterward, he sat in the sun with blood drying sticky on his chin, his bare chest. His mouth tasted like iron, and he smoked a cigarette that felt almost post-coital. His brain hadn’t recovered from the battle fog, he was still seeing everything in black and white and everything was too heightened, almost painful, but it felt good. The wolf brain only cared about a few things, so he sat empty headed and smoking until he was told by his master to pack his shit up and move off. His movements and thoughts were jerky, disordered, a mess of _bite, blood, run_ , and he snapped at a member of his clusterfuck of a pack when he tried to get too close. He snarled back, and Shelton felt phantom hackles rise, bared his teeth that some part of him knew should be fangs.

“Watch it.” He snapped, and the Dog, Shelton didn’t know his name because he didn’t remember names of people who don’t interest him - he growled, warning. 

“Just because we’re pack doesn’t mean I won’t go for you, boy.” He replied, tugging a pair of dungarees on over blood streaked legs.

“We ain’t _pack_.” Shelton snarled, and stared him down until the Dog scoffed and left. He stunk of death and of fear, of battle-madness and sweat, and Shelton wondered if he smelled the same. Bitter with fear, cloying with the smell of blood. 

\------

Shelton survived Gloucester. 

The rocking of the ship taking them back to Pavuvu made him seasick, and he sat with his arms over his head out on the deck and tried to let the sea air soothe his stomach. It was fucking miserable, and not even cigarettes could settle him, and every time he vomited he remembered the taste of blood in his mouth and it made him sicker. 

“Seasick?” A voice dropped down from above, and Shelton uncovered his head as he scented _human_ over the salt smell of the sea. There was a man standing over him, sharp blue eyes and a dirty face, and Shelton watched cautiously as he took a seat across from him. 

“Yeah.” Shelton croaked, eyeing up the Marine as he closed his eyes and settled back on the deck. He mustn’t have known Shelton wasn’t human, because the regular Marines never spoke to his unit. It was an unspoken rule, some leftover animosity or not entirely misplaced fear. 

“They got pills for that.” The Marine said, and Shelton pillowed his temple on his arm to watch him. The side of his face felt hot, feverish, and his head swam with the shift in perspective. The Marine cracked an eye open, and the slant of his brows made him look serious, but the line of his mouth was kind. “You should get yourself some. Ain’t no use wastin’ good relaxation time sick as a dog.”

Shelton had to smirk at that, and he shut his eyes as he drawled. “Ain’t gonna work on me. They ain’t developed no pill that can settle a wolf’s stomach, yet.” He didn’t open his eyes for the Marine’s reaction, just let the boat rock him until he started to feel nauseous again and he had to dig his smokes out.

The Marine was staring at him like he wasn’t sure whether Shelton had just cracked a joke or not. “You with the Devil Dogs?” He asked, and Shelton just clicked his lighter shut and puffed out a cloud of smoke. “Well, shit. I’d never’ve known.” The Marine leaned back on his hands, tipped his chin back to stare up into the sky. 

“They say we look just like the rest’a ya.” Shelton replied, and the Marine pursed his lips, nodded.

“S’pose you do.” He said, like he was really mulling it over. Shelton waited, smoked his cigarette almost down to the butt before the Marine sat back up and extended a hand his way. “R.V Burgin.”

Shelton stared at his outstretched hand, and then slowly, he took it. “Merriell Shelton.” He said, and tried to remember the last time a human willingly spoke to him like this. No trace of fear, or disdain, or _anything_. Just a Marine talking to a fellow Marine. 

Burgin leaned back with a grin on his face, and wordlessly, Shelton offered him a cigarette that he declined. A few days later, Shelton earned the nickname ‘Snafu’ from Burgie, and Shelton found himself so equally bemused and amused by him that he decided, right then and there, that maybe all humans weren’t so bad after all.

\-----

They were back in the shit and rotting coconuts stink of Pavuvu when the replacements arrived. Shelton had taken to sharing a bunk with Burgie and a couple other Gloucester vets, since he couldn’t stand to be around the other wolves. The taste of battle had got their blood up, which made them particularly intolerable and restless. Shelton had gotten into a fight the first day, and relocated himself to Burgie’s bunk faster than one of them could claw him up. 

“I ain’t ever met a werewolf before.” L’Eau muttered, sawing his shoes up into sandals like Shelton had taught him. His blade slipped and he cursed, stuck his thumb in his mouth to suck at the cut. 

“Sure y’have.” Shelton said, toying with his lighter as he shot an amused grin L’Eau’s way. “We look just like ya. Probably live next door to one.”

L’Eau opened his mouth to retort, a frown already creasing his brow, but then the screen door banged open and Shelton pricked his ears up, turned his gaze to the doorway. He caught a shock of red hair, a long nose over a serious mouth, and then his scent hit him and Shelton went boneless with it.

The boy was dumb clueless, so green he probably had shoots growing out of his ass, all big brown eyes and still wet behind the ears. He smelt like Southern summers and boyish sweat, talc and military issue soap and something unidentifiable that made Shelton bite down on the inside of his cheek. _Mine_. The thought flashed unbidden through his mind, gone as quick as it came, but he felt vaguely drunk when he tossed his ill-fashioned sandal on the spare bunk and drawled, “Taken,” because he was nothing if not territorial. 

“Why’d you do that?” L’Eau asked after the new recruits had shuffled away, tails between their legs, and Shelton shrugged because he genuinely didn’t know. The sudden and consuming flash of _want_ had knocked him stupid, made his skin feel tight and alien on him. He suddenly yearned for the simplicity of his wolf brain, and he watched the screen door closely as if the boy might come back. His scent lingered, and Shelton felt vaguely drugged by it.

“Dunno.” He muttered, and scratched his hand through his hair restlessly. Both Burgie and L’Eau were eyeing him cautiously, and he wondered if they thought he was about to wolf out, or something. If he hadn’t already had himself under control before boot camp, it had certainly beaten out of him any lack of control with his shifting. He willed himself to relax back against his bunk. “Can’t just take beds wherever they please.”

Burgie laughed, and the tension in the bunk shifted. “Sure they can, Snafu.” He said, and went back to his one man card game. “But don’t mean they have to take them here. Good job.”

“Yeah,” L’Eau muttered, like the idea was just dawning on him. “Ain’t got time to play mommy and daddy to some new recruits.”

Burgie laughed. “Who’s the mommy here, Jay?” 

Shelton lit himself a cigarette, and tried to put the redhead from his mind. It was surprisingly easy, with his scent fading from the room, and he exhaled a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling before saying, “You’re the mom if I’ve ever seen one, Burgie.”

Burgie sputtered indignantly, and Shelton let the conversation carry his mind away from green recruits who smelled like a confusing mix of human and home.


	2. Chapter 2

Shelton hadn’t ever had any illusions about his preferences. He’d known he’d liked men since before he could remember, and it didn’t cut him up anymore like it used to. Kept on the down low, only amongst people of the same proclivities, it wasn’t a life he regretted. He’d just never thought he’d be imagining what a human would be like with his mouth around his cock. He’d never factored that into his whole secret queer life. 

The boy’s name was Eugene Sledge, and he smelled like the heat of the Southern sun and like clean sweat and anxiety. When he found out Shelton was a werewolf, those big brown eyes of his almost popped out of his skull, but he wasn’t afraid of him like most human Marines were. Where others gave Shelton shifty looks in the chow line, Eugene questioned him ruthlessly about it.

“Y’know,” He said, one day through a mouthful of food, and Shelton flicked his gaze up quick, eyes dropping to his bony chest, back up to his mouth, then his eyes. “I don’t think you’re any different from the rest of us.”

“I am.” Shelton said, shortly, and dropped his eyes back to his food. The food was inedible to his more sharply tuned senses, but if he held his breath and ate it quick it didn’t matter. 

“You know what I mean.” Eugene countered, and Shelton tried not to feel fond about the way his big mouth pressed into a disapproving flat line when he was annoyed at Shelton being purposely obtuse. He stabbed at the air with his fork, one elbow propped on the table. Burgie, next to him, shot Shelton a covert, amused glance. “We’re all fightin’ the same war, ain’t no use making divisions in our own troops.”

“Take that up with the man upstairs.” Shelton muttered into his coffee, and at Eugene’s furrowed eyebrows he said with a grin, “Mister Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Sledge.”

Eugene always went a brilliant shade of pink when he was irritated, or embarrassed, or anything really. God, Shelton had a soft spot for redheads. He was indignant, now, and frowned at Shelton like he was solely responsible for the way the other Marines ducked their heads when he passed them in the mess tent. “Ain’t you mad about it?”

“Mad about what, sugar?” Shelton drawled, and grinned behind the lip of his mug as Eugene flushed again. 

“About how they use you and your kind.” He said, like it was obvious, and Shelton bristled.

“Ain’t you?” He countered snappishly, and Eugene gave him a hard look before dropping his gaze to his plate. “We’re all cannon fodder, ain’t any one of us better than the other.”

“I just mean how you’re treated by the others.” Eugene said, and Shelton sat back in his seat and tipped his chin back, observing him silently. 

“When you see me in battle, you’ll get it.” He murmured, and then leaned forward to grab his plate and mug as he stood. “Ain’t nobody getting too chummy with a werewolf they just seen rip out a man’s throat.”

He left Eugene to sit on that thought, and then two days later they were shipped back out, Shelton with the Dogs and Eugene tucked safely with his humans towards his first taste of war.

\-------

They landed on Peleliu in the early morning, before the real heat of the day started to set in. Shelton was still sweating though, stripped to his waist and carrying nothing but just shit afraid and nauseous. His pack were restless, most of them half-shifted and growling at any provocation. Shelton could feel his fangs aching in his gums, and his joints felt loose, skin prickling. It felt like the moment before he shifted, the buildup of pressure only it never snapped and left Shelton feeling antsy and claustrophobic, crammed into the Amtrak with men who smelled more like danger than pack.

Then, they hit the beach and the world dropped away for a moment as the wolf burst loose before it all came rushing back in an explosion of noise and smell. The sand under his paws was burning hot, and the reek of gunpowder and rifle oil and death hung heavy in his nose as he sprang into the action. They were close range weapons, and fast and agile and perfect for slipping through defences unnoticed. Shelton got his teeth into an enemy soldier before the humans had even finished falling over the sides of their Amtrak, and the taste of blood lit something primal inside his wolf brain that made everything that wasn’t _run, bite, kill_ fall away.

Scent became muddled in the middle of battle. His muzzle was soaked in blood, and so was everything else around him. It was even hard to catch the scent of his pack over the stink of churned up mud and death, and yet for some reason he still found himself with his nose to the ground as he tried to catch the trail of Eugene, or even Burgie or L’Eau. He howled, once, and the answering howls from his pack tore the air, told him where they were so he could link back up with them. A small part of him wished he could do the same with the humans.

There was no place for the concern he felt deep in his mind, no time to spare on the humans he’d stupidly fallen in with. The world was a disjoined kaleidoscope of war, of boots thumping past him and shells flying screaming over his head, bullets like hornets in the air. One of his packmates snapped at his heels, and Shelton lashed out at him, a warning growl ripping from his throat. His head was a mess of Eugene, of fight and flee, and it made it hard for him with his attention diverted. The wolf loped away, swallowed up by the muddle of battle, the smoke and the gunfire, and Shelton stuck his nose to the ground and followed. 

After, he sat and drank from a puddle while the humans watched him jealously. He was soaked with so much blood, all caked in his fur and streaking his face, that the cloudy, barely-drinkable water turned pink with it. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth, panting in the heat as the sun crept higher into the sky. The rubble underfoot burned his paw pads, but Shelton couldn’t shift back just yet. The battle didn’t feel over, and the adrenaline pounding through his veins made it harder to keep a handle on his shift, it had been drilled into him as a danger response for too long. Besides, he didn’t have any pants.

The breeze changed direction, ruffled the fur that wasn’t matted down with blood and bringing with it the smell of burning, of fear. Shelton’s ears pricked up as he scented a familiar smell; dry grass under hot sun, talc, rifle oil. He was up and moving before his brain really registered why, weaving through groups of men sitting around silent and shaken after the battle, who barely even flinched when he passed by. He knew the human Marines didn’t like to see him and his pack, but he barely registered it. Humans weren’t on his radar.

Eugene was sitting apart from the rest of his unit, red-rimmed eyes staring off into nothing. He looked shattered, and thirsty, and barely fucking there, and Shelton had to suppress a whine at the sight of him. His gaze turned on Shelton as he approached, hollow and unseeing, not recognising him for a beat until his eyes focused and then went wide.

“Snaf?” He muttered, voice shot, and Shelton took a step forward, and then another, his paws sore as he stepped nimbly over the shattered ground. Gingerly, Eugene extended one dirty, scraped up hand, and Shelton pressed his nose into his palm gently. He scented him, smelled terror and sweat and gunpowder, but no blood. At least, none of his own. Eugene curved his hand under Shelton’s jaw, slow like he was afraid he was going to turn on him, and then up so he could bury his fingers in Shelton’s fur, scratch behind his ears. Normally Shelton would bristle at being petted like a goddamn dog, but he thought that Eugene probably needed it so he stayed still and let Eugene lean in and press his forehead to Shelton’s, breathe out slow. 

Shelton never normally regretted his lack of vocal cords, but in that moment he wished he could offer any word of comfort to Eugene. Like, the battles are awful but you get used to it, or, seeing people die becomes second nature after a while. He didn’t know how to comfort, never learned and never had to, but for a moment he wished he had. But wishing wasn’t a necessity in wartime, and he pressed his nose briefly to Eugene’s dirt-streaked cheek before he loped away, mind oddly settled now he knew that Eugene had survived the landing. Now all he had to do was survive the rest of the campaign, and the next one, and the next until he lived through the whole goddamn bloody war.

Shelton shifted back after he found his pack and then someone to supply him with a pair of dungarees. It was growing dark by the time he and the other Dogs settled down in the rubble of the bombed out airfield, and he slipped away after he finally got some clean water down him, his nose leading him to the slumped figure of Eugene a little ways away. He eyed him warily as he approached, eyes having lost a little bit of that bulkhead stare but still such a departure from the boy on Pavuvu that Shelton felt his heart squeeze in his chest. The rest of Eugene’s unit was scattered nearby, but Shelton made a beeline for him, holding up a hand in greeting to Burgie and the others as he passed.

“You look a little rattled.” Shelton quipped, as he took a seat next to him and leaned back on his palms with a sigh. Eugene shot him a disbelieving look.

“Yeah,” He said, like Shelton was a goddamn idiot. “I guess I am, Snaf.”

Shelton liked it when Eugene called him Snaf. None of the other Marines did it, and it felt special and cosy in a way he wasn’t familiar with but liked all the same. It reminded him of his mama, how she’d call him ‘tiny thing’ and comb his hair back from his face. God, he was getting soft. “You got through it, though.” He said, and followed the arc of a flare through the sky to avoid staring at Eugene. “All by ya’self.”

“Only just.” Eugene muttered, and leaned his shoulder against Shelton’s wordlessly. “I didn’t recognise you at first, earlier.”

“Surprised you did at all.” Shelton said, and propped his chin on his shoulder so he could watch Eugene by the sporadic light of the flares. His night vision was sharp, but each time they were plunged back into darkness it took a minute to adjust, leaving Eugene a soft smudge of darker night next to him. “Not many people do.”

Eugene was silent for a moment, eyes turned to the ground as he fiddled with the ring on his finger. Slipping it off and back on again, turning it over in his fingers and rubbing at the flat face of it. The metal winked dully in the low light, and Shelton found himself hypnotised by it. “You got the same eyes.” Eugene said finally, glancing up. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, utterly ridiculous considering. “I couldn’t tell, at first, but after you told me it was easy.”

“That I weren’t human?” Shelton asked, and Eugene smiled to himself, turned his gaze back to his hands. 

“Your eyes reflect light like a cat, Snaf.” He murmured. “They’re doin’ it right now. ‘S only a matter of time before I figured it out.”

“Ain’t a secret.” He said dismissively, and watched Eugene for his reaction. The silence between them stretched, broken by the distant sounds of shelling and men shouting. The breeze brought with it the smell of dead bodies and salt from the sea, and Shelton nudged his knee to Eugene’s gently. “Does it scare ya?”

Eugene took a minute to reply, turned his face so he could squint at Shelton, gaze considering. “Nah.” He said, quiet, and his gaze softened. “I don’t think so.”

Shelton just hummed, and they sat side by side as the men around them talked, shoulders touching and heads tilted close together in the darkness. Shelton lit a cigarette, and they passed it back and forth silently, listening to the sounds of bombing as it ricocheted around the valley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading !! :^0


	3. Chapter 3

Eugene watched him pry teeth out of dead Japanese skulls like he was a monster, like he hadn’t pressed his forehead to Shelton’s bloody fur or seen him rip out throats like it was nothing. It set Shelton’s teeth on edge, because it wasn’t like he was the only one doing it, but the way Eugene looked at him made him feel like he was more fucked up than even he thought he was. He dismissed it in minutes, pocketed the gold and slept in a foxhole with some nameless member of his pack that night. He missed Eugene’s scent, the way he woke Shelton gently when it was time to change watch, but he told himself that it was for the best. There was a reason why he didn’t mix with humans, after all.

“You’ve been spending a lotta time with third battalion.” His pack mate said, a little too snide for Shelton’s liking. “That little redhead.”

“Shut up.” Shelton snapped, and the Dog sneered at him through the darkness. He was a big guy, a head taller than Shelton and twice as broad, but Shelton knew he’d probably come out on top in a fight. Size was all very well and good, but he’d been fighting men bigger than him before he got his adult fangs in, and he hadn’t lost yet. 

“You’re welcome to pets, Corporal.” The Dog murmured, voice low in the darkness. “Don’t forget where your real loyalties lie, though.”

“My only loyalties are to the Marine Corps.” Shelton said, short. He didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t like the idea of Eugene on the Dog’s mind. “Not to this fucked up excuse for a pack.”

He was back in Eugene’s foxhole the following night, and Eugene didn’t mention anything about him leaving, so neither did he. Eugene still woke him up slow, and laid his head down on Shelton’s thigh when it was his turn to sleep. Shelton watched him, mind skipping over the word _pet_ until he felt near mad with it. 

By the time they rolled out in the morning, he knew he smelled like humans, and didn’t give a shit either way. The other Dogs eyed him up like he was an alien in their midst, and he just kept his chin high and his gaze forward. He’d made his choices, and he was gonna goddamn stick to his guns, no matter how many barbed comments were thrown his way. 

\------

Peleliu dragged, and the only way Shelton kept what was left of his rapidly waning and always debatable sanity was watching Eugene make his little tally marks in his Bible. The heat was the worst thing about it, the dehydration that came with it, the constant feeling of near-suffocation in the humidity. It was even worse in his wolf form, with every sense sharpened to almost painful levels. He couldn’t even wash the blood off his skin that stayed after he shifted, not unless they happened across a stream or a puddle, and Shelton had never been obsessed with cleanliness but it was beginning to get to him. The only upside to being covered in dark, dried blood was the wary looks of the human marines. Shelton revelled in them.

Everything paled when he was in battle, and it was a small mercy he grasped at with both hands. All he became was the feel of the wind in his fur and the ground beneath his paws, the rich copper tang of blood on his tongue. It was simple fucking heaven after the struggle of marching on two human feet, and he found himself more often wolf than man. Eugene liked it, would press his face into Shelton’s fur during downtime like he was the dog he’d left at home. He smelled less and less like Southern summers as the days wore on, but if Shelton pressed his nose to his palm he could catch a pale thread of the scent there, sometimes. It was more than enough, but when Ack Ack died Shelton realised he couldn’t hide in his wolf brain forever.

Eugene’s eyes were bloodshot with tears as he handed Shelton his dungarees. “Ain’t seen you on two legs in a minute.” He croaked, and Shelton didn’t reply, just tugged his pants on and lit a cigarette as he surveyed the ridge.

“War’s a little better when you’re seein’ it in black and white.” He murmured, tipping in his chin up in acknowledgement as Burgie raised a weary hand in hello. “Girls watchin’ the newsreels back home don’t know how lucky they are.”

Eugene handed him a canteen, and he drank deeply from it, enough to unsettle his stomach before he handed it back. “You got a girl?” Eugene asked, and he looked just upset enough that Shelton decided to humour him.

“Nah.” He said, and slung the rifle that Eugene had been keeping safe for him over his shoulder before taking a seat. The goddamn coral had been tearing his paws to shreds the first few days, and he wasn’t pleased to find that it was just as uncomfortable even with clothes on. He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, and gave up almost immediately. “You?”

Eugene watched him lace his boots before he spoke. “No.” He pressed his knee to Shelton’s shoulder. “Ain’t never had much time for it.”

“Oh,” Shelton replied, “So it’s like that.” His gaze was heavy on Eugene, challenging. Eugene was turning pink.

“I’m sure I dunno what you’re talking about.” He said, after a beat. They stared at each other for a minute, and then Eugene’s mouth twitched into a grudging smile, and Shelton threw his head back and laughed.

“Shit,” He muttered, amused, “This war’s gonna turn me mad if it ain’t already.”

“I think you were mad long before you got shipped out here.” Eugene mumbled, kicking at a loose piece of coral. The two of them watched it clatter down below, and then Burgie joined them, and any talk of girlfriends ended there. 

“You’re back.” Burgie said, settling his rifle on his knees as he took a seat next to Eugene. Shelton just shrugged, flicked his cigarette butt away. “Thought you’d given us up. Gone lone wolf.”

Shelton grinned, catching Eugene’s eye before he ducked his head and glanced away. “Nah,” He murmured, leaning back on his palms as he tipped his grin Burgie’s way. “You guys’ve got better coffee, ain’t gonna give that up for the world.” Eugene’s shin pressed against his shoulder again, soft and imperceptible, and Shelton felt pleased down to his bones.

He slept in Eugene’s foxhole again that night, and the night after, until his CO told him to get the fuck back in line. He considered disobeying, but couldn’t justify to himself why exactly he should. It wasn’t worth getting written up just so he could watch one human sleep, so he retired back to the Dogs’ lines and ignored how they all wrinkled their noses at the smell of human on his skin. The wolves smelled like blood and meat and badness, like a pack gone wrong, and Eugene smelled like blood too but also like home and coffee, cigarettes and Southern summers and _mine_. If Shelton pressed his nose into the clothes Eugene had been keeping for him while he was shifted, he could smell him. It made taking watch easier, his face turned into the collar of his shirt as he watched the darkness beyond his foxhole and tried not to suffocate in the unfamiliar werewolf stink. 

\------

The dual life he was leading on Peleliu came to a head during a particularly ugly battle on the ridges. Shelton was made slow by the coral cutting into his paws, by the heat dragging him down, and somewhere in the back of his mind he realised he was becoming exhausted by it all. Staying with his pack, fighting, killing, dehydration and hunger and keeping an eye on his fleshy fucking humans. Maybe it was the second campaign slump, maybe it was because he had people now he would miss if they died, but either way the war was finally getting to him. 

He wasn’t running with his pack when it happened. He was with Burgie’s unit, all of them crouched behind a ridge of rock as they muttered away about this and that. Shelton was licking his paws, one eye on Eugene as he and his fellow mortar men fired off round after round. The ridges were hard to navigate as a wolf, as they were close range weapons in an increasingly long range battle, and often Shelton found himself yearning to shift back and fire a goddamn gun. But rules were rules, and he knew that if his CO saw him human he’d get shit for it, which was fucked but when weren’t commanding officers wrong? So it left him to sit on his ass and nurse his cut up paws and watch the humans win the war. 

It happened in a burst of rifle fire, snapping like a string of Chinese crackers. Shelton could pinpoint the moment Eugene got hit, the uneasy smell of anxiety that lingered over them all changed to one of red hot panic, and the _blood_. Too real and close and human, and Shelton was moving before his brain caught up with his feet, dashing to Eugene’s side without a care for the sharp coral.

Eugene was on his back, eyes huge in his face as he scrabbled at the shoulder of his uniform. In Shelton’s colour-blindness, blood bloomed black against the darker grey of his uniform, inky against the white of his skin. It was like an old silent picture, Eugene’s mouth opening on a gasp as he screwed his eyes shut and pressed his face into the dirt. Then the world rushed back in, and someone shoved Shelton aside to get close to him, and he snapped at them without really meaning to, his heart hammering in his chest with fear. Someone called for a corpsman, and Shelton tried to shift back so he could be near Eugene but it just wouldn’t happen. Fear-adrenaline was pounding so hard through his veins that he couldn’t control his shift, and he tossed his head nervously as paced around the crouching men around Eugene. The smell of his blood hung heavy in the air, the sickly stink of fear and pain underneath it, and he was whining without even meaning to. The humans wouldn’t let him close, not until the corpsman said Eugene was fine and the huddle parted to get back to their positions. 

Eugene was propped up against the coral, stripped to his waist and smeared with blood from his shoulder. Shelton pressed his nose to his palm, his collarbones, his neck, curled in around his body as close as he could get. The corpsman bandaging him up shot Shelton a dirty look, but Shelton just bared his teeth and he backed off.

“Snaf.” Eugene murmured, voice shot, and Shelton curled his body into his, pressed close like that was enough. “Calm down.”

Shelton’s ears were pressed flat to his skull out of fear, or aggression, or both. He couldn’t tell. Eugene gripped a handful of his fur, pressed his face into his shoulder and kept it there as the corpsman pressed and kneaded at the muscle of his shoulder to extract the bullet. Shelton realised dimly that he was whining, a stupid, doglike trait. He was more dog than man, pressing close so Eugene smelled like him, his thoughts a jumble. _Protect, cover, mine_. The blood streaked black across Eugene’s bare chest, and Shelton pressed his nose to Eugene’s throat and tried to still the thump of his heart. 

“You know,” Eugene gritted out, and Shelton made a low, rumbling noise in his chest as he nosed at his face. “They don’t tell you how much a bullet _burns_.” His mouth was pressed into a hard line, and Shelton wished hopelessly he take his pain away from him somehow. He settled for tucking his head into Eugene’s lap and letting him rub at his ears as the corpsman bandaged his bloody shoulder. Shelton concentrated on the thrum of Eugene’s pulse and his ragged breath, feeling himself grow more in control with each pained inhale and exhale until he was enough himself to shift back.

 _This is what you get,_ he thought, as he kneeled by Eugene’s side and cupped his dirty, dear face in his palms, _this is what you get for caring about humans._ Tears had left streaks of clean skin in their wake, and Shelton stroked his thumbs down them, tender. Eugene closed his eyes, leaned his face into Shelton’s touch. _They’re weak, and they’ll only bring you pain._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! sorry about the late update, school is crazy


	4. Chapter 4

Getting back to Pavuvu was a genuine, surprising comfort. After Peleliu, Shelton would take the stink and heat of Pavuvu any day. It felt good to take his boots off, sleep, play cards and not have to be on high alert. Someone was passing around homemade liquor, strong enough to strip paint, so Shelton spent his days pleasantly buzzed and trying not to think too much. 

“I don’t know how you stomach that stuff.” Burgie muttered, casting a distrusting glance at the cup held loosely in Shelton’s hand. Burgie had spent an afternoon violently sick off of it, and hadn’t touched it since. 

“Takes something a little strong to get me drunk.” Shelton murmured, and took a sip, grimaced at the burn. It was strong and tasted like shit, probably made of fermented coconuts or something equally as insidious. Eugene refused to touch it, just smoked his funny pipe and watched as Shelton lost game after game of cards. 

“What I wouldn’t give for a wolf’s stomach.” Burgie muttered, bitter. “‘S the only booze around here, and gets me sick as a dog.”

Shelton tipped his cup in Burgie’s direction, and Burgie just rolled his eyes. Shelton was feeling loose and warm in the sun, stripped to his waist and leaned up against Eugene’s side. They hadn’t had a lot of time alone together since he got shot on the ridges, and Shelton had decided that maybe it was for the best. Eugene may be mouthy, a little more interesting than Shelton had first thought, but he was still nothing that Shelton should get himself involved in. A good, upper class Southern boy, who wouldn’t be caught dead slumming it with a _werewolf_. But now, with the fear and anxiety of battle well behind him and the shitty bathtub liquor in his stomach, Shelton was rethinking things. The press of Eugene’s bare side to his was nice, comforting, and he felt wrapped up in Eugene’s scent in a way he’d never felt before with anyone else. 

“I wanna go for a swim.” Eugene said abruptly, eyes on the distant sea. He glanced at Burgie and Shelton, pipe frozen between his lap and his mouth. “We’ve been in the Pacific for months and ain’t swum once.”

Shelton tossed his liquor back and coughed at the burn, pressing a hand to his sternum as Burgie laughed. When he spoke, his voice was raspy. “Not really a lotta time to be swimming, Sledgehammer.”

Eugene scowled at him, and Shelton just grinned back, quietly delighted. Eugene wasn’t as milky pale as he had been as a new recruit, but he still went pink enough when he was mad. “Best take advantage now then.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Shelton said, lazy slow as he leaned back on his palms. He didn’t miss Eugene’s gaze jump from his face to his chest, his belly, and then back up again. Shelton felt his grin stretch, lowered his eyelids a little until Eugene glanced away.

“Ain’t gonna catch me in that sea.” Burgie muttered, throwing down his hand as it became clear the game had been abandoned. Shelton snuck a glance and winced. Full house. That’d have cost him a whole pack of cigarettes if Eugene hadn’t gotten distracted. “You don’t know what the hell is in there.”

“I’d take jellyfish or enemy soldiers over you beating me at cards again any day.” Shelton announced, and stood. He extended a hand towards Eugene, tapped his fingers to his palm when he took too long to take it. “C’mon, we’re gonna go swimmin’.”

There were a couple other Marines who’d had the same idea Eugene had had, splashing nude in the shallows. The sea was bluer than anything Shelton had seen before, and the sea breeze, the smell of seaweed and hot sand, drowned out the nastier smells of Pavuvu until the island seemed almost _nice_.

“Feels like a holiday.” Eugene said as they paced down the beach, bare feet sinking into the white sand as they made their way to the water. Shelton snorted.

“Damn shitty holiday.” He said, and smiled when Eugene knocked his shoulder with his own.

“Lay off.” He muttered, gazing out over the water as they came to a stop. “You know what I mean.”

Eugene was flushed pink down his chest from the heat, and Shelton couldn’t help but follow the curve of his waist down to the path between his hips, the sparse hair there, as he stepped out of his dungarees and left them folded neatly on a nearby rock. He wanted to get his hands all over him, get his mouth on his throat, his pink nipples, the soft white skin of his lower belly. Eugene looked when he undressed too, and Shelton acknowledged it with a wink that made Eugene go red. 

The water was warm, parting around his thighs, his hips, his chest. Shelton hadn’t felt clean since he’d left the States, but there was something purifying in the smell of brine in his nose, the feel of the water closing around his hot head as he ducked under the waves. He resurfaced with a gasp, and grinned at Eugene as he did the same. His dark red hair was plastered his forehead, water in his eyelashes and running down his chin. Shelton wondered if he tasted like salt, if he were to kiss him. 

They drifted for a while, eyes closed against the glare of the sun on their upturned, brown faces. Shelton could feel the horrors of Peleliu seeping away from him the longer he soaked, could almost distance himself from the wolf who’d tasted blood for months on end and nothing else. 

“Isn’t it strange to be enjoying ourselves.” Eugene piped up, wading a little closer to Shelton from where he’d drifted out. In the distance came the shouts and splashes of some other Marines, fooling around in the water. Shelton watched them, thinking _pack_.

“No,” He said, slow, and shook water out of his eyes as he touched his foot to the sandy seabed. “‘S a surefire way of goin’ mad if you live your life like that.” Eugene didn’t reply, just hummed, eyes big and brown in his face as he watched Shelton. The moment hung between them, gentle, no pressure, and Shelton shut his eyes against the light, tilted his face up. 

They spent a lot of days at the beach after that, just the two of them as Burgie was still spooked about the water. Slowly, Eugene lost that haunted look in his eyes, and Shelton watched him come back to himself a fondness that threatened to split his chest wide open. He wanted badly to shift, the wolf restless under his skin. He wanted Eugene’s hands in his fur, his scent in his nose and under his skin. In his human form, Eugene spared him the barest touches: a hand on his elbow, the small of his back, an arm slung companionably around his shoulders and the press of his bare side. Maybe it was because it was easier to reconcile touch when he was a wolf, as Eugene never tired of scratching through Shelton’s thick black fur whenever he was in that form. He missed it, but didn’t miss the chaos of battle enough to wish for it again.

They had sought the shade of a palm tree, the mid-afternoon heat too much to stand even in the water. Eugene had his head pillowed on Shelton’s thigh, a book propped on his sternum, completely engrossed. Shelton lit a smoke and watched the play of light on Eugene’s face as the palm leaves shifted in the warm breeze. His long nose was sunburnt, big and red on his face, and as much as Shelton made fun of him for it he really found it endearing. His collarbones were juts of shadow above his bony chest, the mark from his bullet wound a ruddy knot of scar tissue on his shoulder. Silently, Shelton pressed his thumb to it, and Eugene’s eyes rose from his book to gaze at him. The only sound for a moment was the rush of waves, the whisper of leaves in the breeze, and then Shelton leaned down and kissed him slow.

Eugene made a small sound in the back of his throat, surprise or pleasure Shelton didn’t know. Then his lips moved against his own, and he was kissing him. Dropped his book on his chest and reached his hand up to cup the back of Shelton’s head, fingers curling sweetly in his hair as he opened his mouth under the press of Shelton’s lips. He smelled heady, like baking sun on hot tarmac, like the memory of sweet tea on his tongue, and Shelton felt near-drunk on it. He brought his hand to Eugene’s jaw, tipped his face up into the kiss. The sun was beating down on the back of his neck, burning like the wolf burned through his veins, and then they parted. Shelton felt full and warm, brimming over with something he couldn’t place. He brushed his knuckle over Eugene’s cheekbone, and then leaned back against the trunk of the palm tree. Eugene gave him a long look, and then returned to his book. Shelton’s cigarette was burning down between his fingers, and he grinned out to the sea as Eugene reached a hand back to squeeze his thigh. 

_Pack_ , he thought, and exhaled smoke, inhaled the sea salt air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading ! :^)


	5. Chapter 5

They got shipped out to Okinawa two days later, Shelton shaking grimly with seasickness, shoulder pressed to Eugene’s as they watched Pavuvu disappear behind them. Covertly, Eugene curled his fingers in Shelton’s, eyes on the horizon and mouth set in a flat line.

A Dog sauntered by, gave Shelton a toothy smile as he slapped him on the shoulder in faux companionship. “Ready to get your muzzle wet, devil dog?” He asked, and Shelton bared his teeth at him in a feeble snarl, too sick to muster up anything more.

“Leave him alone.” Eugene snapped, tipping up his chin in challenge as the Dog stared at him in complete surprise. Then he let out a bark of laughter, throwing his head back. Eugene stiffened next to him, jaw tight, and Shelton pressed a hand to his thigh. _Stop_.

“Keep your bitch in line, Private.” The Dog said, and turned away with a laugh. Shelton blinked. 

“Don’t speak to him like that.” He snapped, and he was on his feet and his hand was on the Dog’s shoulder before he realised what he was doing. The wolf was growling under his skin, and he felt his lips twitch back in a snarl when the Dog turned and looked at Shelton’s hand on his shoulder like it was something poisonous. He spat, lip curling.

“You’re gonna get into it with me over _that_ , boy?” He jerked his head towards Eugene, who was standing now, fists clenched at his sides. All the Marines out on the deck were watching them, some in trepidation, some with open amusement on their faces. Shelton tipped his chin up, hating that he was so goddamn short compared to the other Dogs. His brothers had always said he was the runt of the litter, and he was beginning to believe them.

“Better get in a bit of practice for Okinawa.” He said, voice low, and the Dog scowled, took a step closer to him. The wolf inside of Shelton bared its teeth.

“Alright, alright.” Came a voice to Shelton’s left, a Texan drawl. Burgie. “That’s enough, Privates.”

“Stay out of this.” Shelton growled, eyes not leaving the other Dog’s for a second. He’d never backed down from a fight, and didn’t plan to start now. His blood was up, joints aching with the half-shift he was threatening to tip over into. 

“Don’t think I won’t write you up, Snafu.” Burgie said, voice hard.

“You ain’t my CO.” He snapped. The Dog smiled, slow and challenging. A growl rumbled in Shelton’s chest.

“We all report to the same man.” Burgie said, an edge in his voice that Shelton hadn’t heard before. Shelton glanced at him, quick. He didn’t want to be the first to relent, but he didn’t doubt Burgie would report him if he got into a fight with a fellow Marine. 

“Call off your dog, kid.” The Dog drawled, eyes sliding to Eugene, and Shelton bared his teeth. He felt torn in two directions, doubting a fight for the first time in his life. The thought, _goddamn pack responsibilities_ flashed through his mind too quick to stamp it out, and that was enough to shake him out of it. He took a step back, and the Dog grinned. “That’s what I thought.” 

“Just wait.” Shelton bit out, and stalked past Burgie and Eugene to take a seat near the bow of the ship. His blood was still boiling, his skin feeling too tight around the wolf inside him, and he shook his head a couple times to try and clear it. The sea air wasn’t doing much for him, but a moment later Eugene came to sit next to him and Shelton felt himself relax a little. Eugene smelled familiar, comforting, and he pressed his shoulder to Shelton’s, put his head in close.

“Don’t get yourself court martialled on my behalf.” He murmured, and Shelton didn’t reply. “I can stand up for myself.”

“It ain’t about that.” Shelton said, and tipped his head closer to Eugene’s with a sigh. “‘S pack. Can’t let them get one over on you.”

“Sounds exhausting.” Eugene murmured, and Shelton just grunted. His seasickness was returning, and he drew his knees to his chest with a groan. “Ain’t no use fighting with each other when we’re gonna be fighting the enemy in a day.”

“Woulda got me in the spirit though.” Shelton said, and huffed out a laugh at the expression on Eugene’s face. “Semper fi, huh?” 

“Semper fi.” Eugene echoed dully, gazing off across the ship, unseeing. 

\------

The landing on Okinawa was unopposed, and Shelton shifted restlessly from foot to foot with the other Marines as they landed on the beach under the beating sun and nothing else. It was almost eerie, and Shelton half-expected shells to drop on their heads any second. Some of the new recruits were scoffing, walking around with hands on hips like they’d personally cleared the beach out for the rest of them.

“I heard beach landings were s’posed to be hard.” One said, as fresh faced as Eugene had been, but twice as cocky. Shelton just rolled his eyes and turned away, fell in with the rest of the company. 

Okinawa was beautiful. They moved inland through fields and small gardens, past shell-blasted homes and churned up patches of land. Despite the destruction, Shelton appreciated it. The air was thick with the smell of pine trees, and Shelton thought that if every landing was like this he may just stay in the Marines. The troops still on the beach looked like little toy soldiers as they moved up through the mountains, unhurried dots of olive drab against the white sand. Eugene touched his elbow, and Shelton adjusted his rifle on his shoulder and turned away, moved further into the unknown.

They dug in at nightfall, the ground easier than in Peleliu. Clay, but thankfully dry. Shelton didn’t even want to consider what it would be like wet: he’d be matted in it until the goddamn war was over. 

“Do you think it’s a trick?” Eugene murmured, hands busy with his shovel but eyes off in the trees. Shelton shrugged, and tossed a lump of clay aside. 

“If it is, it’s a damn good one.” His cigarette shed ash as he spoke, and he leaned back against the shallow side of their half-finished foxhole as he took it from his mouth. Eugene’s hair was webbed to his forehead with sweat, red against white, and he pushed it back for him.

“Quit it.” Eugene said, a low hiss as his eyes darted around him. His ears were pink. “You know we can’t.” 

Shelton shot him an unimpressed look. “Weren’t sayin’ that when your head was on my lap on the crossing over.”

Eugene flushed a deeper red, and turned back to his shovelling to avoid Shelton’s eye. “‘S different.” He muttered. Shelton watched the shift of muscles in his arms for a minute, the way his back muscles moved under his thin white t-shirt.

“No, it’s not.” Shelton said disinterestedly, and took a drag off his cigarette as he glanced around at the other men digging their holes. The new recruits, whose names Shelton hadn’t bothered to learn and probably never would, were horrible at it. Burgie was standing by with that paternal look on his face, furrowed brows and hands on his hips. “Ain’t nobody looking.”

“We can’t get _distracted_.” Eugene said, and a clump of beige clay narrowly missed Shelton’s shoulder as Eugene hurled it out of the hole. “Now shut up and help me.”

Shelton grinned, and when Eugene caught his eye he smiled too, ducked his head to hide it. “Yessir.” Shelton drawled, and flicked his cigarette butt away as he picked his shovel back up. Maybe all hell was going to break loose once the sun set, but he was for sure going to use what little light and time they had left to watch Eugene and his big broad shoulders dig this goddamn hole for the two of them.

The night was chilly once the sun dropped below the mountains, and so clear that Shelton spent a lot of his turn on watch tracing the constellations from within the walls of his and Eugene’s foxhole. Orion, the easy one, Big Dipper, Aquarius, the Little Dipper, Leo. He woke Eugene with a whisper at his ear, and kissed him while he was still drowsy and pliant against him. The small camp smelled like anxiety, the air tense, but Eugene was soft and warm and clutching at the front of Shelton’s shirt like he wanted to bury his face there and go back to sleep. _Not back in war mode_ , Shelton thought, and wondered what it was like to not be alert your whole life. Eugene made a sleepy noise against his neck, and Shelton thought it was probably a nice way to live your life.

“Wake up, Marine.” Shelton growled, and grinned when Eugene’s head snapped up. He blinked at Shelton, at the world around him.

“Oh.” He said, and rubbed his face with his dirty hands. “Yeah, okay, I’m awake.”

“Y’sure?” Shelton asked, and when Eugene nodded he grunted, leaned back against the wall of the foxhole and crossed his arms across his chest. “Wake me up if any shit goes on.” He murmured, and Eugene just made a noise of affirmation, shifting slowly as he hefted his rifle back in his arms, sat up straight. 

Shelton watched him for a little while from under his eyelashes, sleep evading him as it always did when they were out in combat. The uneasy peace of the landing and the whole day afterwards wasn’t making him finding sleep any easier, either. Eugene was a watercolour smudge of muted colours in the dark, and Shelton drank him in like he only had this night to memorise him down to every tiny detail. War was ugly, _Shelton_ was ugly by association with it, with the lives he’d taken wet and bloody with his teeth. Eugene had managed to evade that through whatever magic often followed rich white Southern boys like him. Not the flimsy magic his mother used to peddle out to tourists, shallow tarot readings and tea leaves she squinted and peered over for meaning. Real magic, the kind that made even Shelton gravitate towards him. 

Shelton hoped that, for his sake, that magic held out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update!!! life has been real busy lately


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eugene: notes that they used tents like ONCE during the early okinawa days  
> me: how can i twist this

They made it to Chimu Wan Bay two weeks early, and Shelton watched Eugene scratch a pencil mark in his battered little bible as L’Eau talked his ear off. He was only half listening, mind on the way Eugene’s hair curled over his forehead and how much he wanted to touch the downy skin of his nape. A Marine Shelton didn’t recognise walked by and gave him a wary look, which Shelton countered with a half-hearted show of teeth. The Marine hurried on. 

“It don’t hurt to be friendly.” L’Eau said, watching the Marine go. Shelton exhaled a cloud of smoke, and wondered if Eugene would let him kiss him later.

“It might.” He said, “Never tried it.”

“Never tried what?” Burgie asked as he approached, taking a seat to Shelton’s left and leaning back on the bank they were sat against with a sigh. 

“Bein’ nice.” Leyden supplied, and Burgie laughed, a short, sharp sound. _Ha!_

“You sure haven’t.” Burgie’s eyes were crinkled in the sun, and he followed Shelton’s gaze to settle on Eugene. He didn’t say anything, just rested his hands on his stomach and eyed Shelton from under his creased brow.

“What?” Shelton snapped, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. He had been on edge since the landing, waiting for something to shatter their fragile peace. Burgie raised his brows and looked away.

“Nothin’.” He murmured, eyes scanning the bay. “Nothin’ at all, Snafu.”

They didn’t even dig foxholes that night, just pitched their little two-man tents that Shelton hadn’t used once since leaving basic. The night was dropping chilly again, and Shelton could barely focus on the tent with the knowledge that he and Eugene would soon be inside it. Warm and dry, not squatted in some godforsaken hole. The thought made his pulse race, made him feel distinctly wolfish in some deep part of himself. 

“‘S like manoeuvres more than combat.” Eugene commented, peering inside the little tent before throwing a grin back over his shoulder at Shelton. He looked young in the moment, that boyish smile on his face. Shelton felt a wave of affection so unfamiliar and strong he suddenly understood what Eugene had said about distractions. 

“Just wait.” He replied, dark as ever, and followed Eugene into the confines of their tent as the men around them began to bed down for the night. 

The inside of the tent was warm from the shared heat of their bodies, and Shelton shrugged his shirt off almost immediately. Eugene’s hand rested on the nape of his neck, curved from the way he was sitting, and then down his back, fingers tripping over the knobs of his spine. Anticipation was weighty in the air, and when Shelton finally laid back Eugene was watching him with wide eyes in the dim light. The tent was tiny, far too small for any decent distance between them, so Shelton curled his body into Eugene’s bigger one, his bare chest up against the rough material of Eugene’s shirt.

“Ain’t you hot?” He asked, a whisper, and he heard Eugene shake his head rather than saw it.

The night was silent past the thin walls of the tent. Shelton could smell the tension between them, could smell Eugene’s arousal, his sweat, the lingering salt of the sea. He kissed him, gentle, thumb on his chin tilting his face down. It sent a little thrill through him to know that Eugene was bigger than he was, broader, taller. 

Their kisses turned deeper, Eugene propped up on his elbow over Shelton as he kissed him until he felt drunk with it. The cover of the tent was perfect. If they could keep quiet, this could go completely undetected. Eugene sighed into his mouth, and Shelton gripped a hold of his hip, curved his body into his. 

“Gene.” He murmured, voice rough in his throat and the wolf snapping under his ribcage. He felt half wild with the smell of Eugene thick in his nose, the press of his hard cock against his thigh. “ _Gene_.” He said again, desperate, and made a small noise against Eugene’s mouth as he pressed his free hand to Shelton’s throat, tipped his head back against the canvas ground with a thumb against his jaw. 

“Quiet.” Eugene said, an edge to his voice that Shelton hadn’t heard before, and it made him go limp, boneless with submission. He wished he could say it was the wolf inside him that made him submit so easy, but that was all Shelton. “We gotta stay quiet.”

Eugene thumbed over his nipples, skated his hand down Shelton’s skinny ribs and belly to rest at the too-large waist of his dungarees. Shelton moaned, a small noise in the back of his throat, and tilted his hips up. Eugene pressed the flat of his hand to the shape of Shelton’s cock through the fabric, and made short work of the zipper when Shelton’s mouth dropped open on a gasp.

Eugene’s thumb was in his mouth, tasting like clay and sweat, and Shelton pressed his tongue against it to distract himself as Eugene curled his fingers around his cock. _He’s done this before_ , Shelton thought, and the idea sent a wave of jealously through him so strong that he grabbed Eugene by the nape and pulled his face towards him, kissed him so hard and dirty he was sure to forget about every single person before him. Eugene kissed him back, hand only slowing on Shelton’s cock when a particularly enthusiastic nip of Shelton’s teeth broke the skin of his lip. 

“Jesus, Snaf.” Eugene murmured, brow furrowing as he leaned back and touched his fingers to his mouth. Shelton made a low noise in the back of his throat at the smear of blood on his bottom lip, surged up to grab his chin and kiss him hard. His blood was copper on Shelton’s tongue, and the animal part of him revelled in it. He wanted to eat him whole, he wanted to bury down into him and never leave, he wanted to keep Eugene safe and knew in that moment that he’d do anything to achieve that. 

“Choke me.” He hissed into the close darkness, and Eugene sucked in a shaky breath at his words. All Shelton could make out in the heavy darkness was the whites of his eyes, the bead of dark blood welling on his lip. Eugene’s hand drew away from his mouth slowly, hesitant when he came to press it to Shelton’s throat. Shelton closed his eyes and pressed his head back against the floor, baring himself to Eugene. Infinitesimally, Eugene’s fingers tightened. “Harder.” Shelton murmured, voice rasping and thin, and Eugene obeyed.

It was heady, the touch of his hand to Shelton’s cock, the way he loomed over him in the darkness as he choked the breath from him. Shelton was panting, hips shifting into Eugene’s touch as he worked him over. “Fuck.” Eugene murmured, sounding as breathless as Shelton felt. The air was thick between them, Eugene’s ring digging what would surely be a bruise the next day. The thought of Eugene marking him for everyone to see was enough to tip him over the edge, and Shelton panted raggedly as he spilled all over Eugene’s hand and his own bare stomach. 

Eugene cursed, and when he took his hand from Shelton’s throat he sucked in a lungful of stale, arousal-heavy hair, panted through the aftershocks of his orgasm as Eugene finished him off. “Oh, fuck, Gene.” He rasped, pulling Eugene down so he could kiss him, breathless, body still thrumming with his orgasm. Eugene groaned into his mouth, low and quiet, twisting in the small space as he moved to lay next to him. “C’mere.” He nipped at Eugene’s jaw, his neck, pressed his nose to the hollow of his throat where he smelled like he always did, sweat and summer and home. Something fond and vicious rose in Shelton’s chest, and he scraped his teeth over a nipple as he made his way down Eugene’s expanse of pale skin. His hands were gripped in Shelton’s hair, tugging, sending sparks of overstimulated arousal through him. 

They both froze as a pair of boots went tramping past their tent, so close that Shelton could hear the thump of his rifle hitting his kabar sheath. They held their breath until the Marine passed, a lifetime, Shelton’s ears pricked.

“Keep quiet.” He murmured, resuming his slow path down Eugene’s belly. Eugene breathed out, short and sharp, as Shelton skimmed his teeth over his hips, the surprising softness of his belly, fingers curling in the waist of his dungarees.

He had a nice cock, Shelton decided, curving his hand around it as Eugene made a low noise in the back of his throat. Just the right side of too thick so he’d feel it in his jaw the next day. The idea made him shiver, and he passed his tongue over the head of Eugene’s cock, smirked at the noise he made.

“You want it?” He asked, voice no more than a whisper. Eugene’s hand tightened in his hair, pulled his face closer to where he was hard and waiting for him. Shelton thought about Eugene’s hand around his throat, his fingers in his mouth. “You gonna fuck my mouth?” He purred, and grinned when Eugene huffed out a moan.

“I just might if you don’t shut up and get on with it.” He breathed, and then Shelton heard him drop his head back against the floor as he finally, _finally_ got his mouth on him. 

To say Shelton had been thinking about this for a long time would be an overstatement. It had always been a passing fancy, whenever Eugene flushed red to his chest, whenever he caught him watching Shelton with his big dark eyes. Now, Shelton knew it’d be on his mind until he got to do it again. Eugene was heavy and hard in his mouth, breath hitching in quiet half-moans as Shelton swallowed around him, eager and a little sloppy as he bobbed his head. Eugene’s hand slipped from his hair to his cheek, curving under Shelton's jaw as he pressed his thumb to where Shelton’s lips were stretched slick and swollen around him. 

“Jesus.” He murmured, and it sounded like he was praying; a low oath that sent a prickly wave of heat through Shelton as he thought about the tally marked bible, the cross around Eugene’s throat. His mouth parted on a moan around his saviour’s name because of Shelton’s mouth around his cock. Shelton felt a little drunk on it. 

Eugene didn’t last long, but neither did Shelton so he couldn’t hold it against him. He came in Shelton’s mouth with a bitten off noise, shaking through his orgasm as Shelton swallowed down around his cock, eyes closed shut as he felt tears prick at them from how deep Eugene was down his throat. His hips pushed upwards, once, twice, and then he sagged back against the hard ground, boneless. Shelton pressed the back of his wrist to his mouth after he pulled off Eugene’s cock, something wicked and feral uncurling in his chest as he took him in by the dim light. 

“Still feel like you’re on manoeuvres?” He asked, voice shot from Eugene’s cock in his throat. His head brushed the top of the low tent as he moved to lay next to Eugene, and he could just barely make out the way he watched Shelton through heavy lidded eyes, mouth tipped in a sleepy, sated smile.

Eugene tipped his head back, regarded Shelton through lowered lids before he murmured, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Shelton was surprised at the whiplash of jealousy that went through him at that, and he kissed Eugene hard, territorial.

\------

They received intel the next day that the main enemy force was situated to the south, which explained their easy landing and first few days. Along with that information came word that Japanese werewolves had been spotted, and it lit an excitement beneath Shelton’s breastbone that had him burning all day long. He’d never understood why the Japanese hadn’t deployed their own wolves: he wanted to get a piece of them, to sink his teeth into fur and flesh and have a real fight for once. Eugene looked less than pleased with this information, and scowled at Shelton when he got too vocal about how he couldn’t wait to tear some Japanese wolf a new one. 

“It’s dangerous.” He muttered, but Shelton ignored it, just pressed his thumb to a pink bite mark on Eugene’s collarbone and smirked when he flushed red. 

“You’re just upset we ain’t gonna get time to ourselves anymore.” Shelton murmured, voice dropped low so the others around them couldn’t hear. Eugene rolled his eyes and shook him off, ears pink as he stalked away to go talk to Bill Leyden. Shelton watched him go, a smile tugging at his mouth. 

War was mostly waiting. Smoking, playing cards, sitting in still silence with the other men. Shelton in his wolf form with his head on Eugene’s lap as he scratched at his ears as tanks idled in the background. Men sitting around with drawn, worried faces, fiddling with their equipment almost obsessively to make sure it was just right.

They were heading further into central Okinawa in a day or two, and Shelton did his best to not think about what lay ahead. The nervous energy and anticipation around the camp made his hair stand on end, a rumbling growl in the back of his throat at all times. Eugene’s hand on his neck calmed him, somehow losing to Burgie at cards calmed him, taking the piss out of L’Eau did too. 

It was the small things.

“What do I smell like?” Eugene asked, one hot afternoon while they waited in line for chow. His chest was sunburnt, and Shelton wanted to press his fingers to the burn just to see the white imprint of himself on the skin, brief as a kiss. 

_Like honeysuckle_ , Shelton thought. Out loud he said, “Dirt and sweat,” and smirked as Eugene rolled his eyes. “What? You asked.”

“I coulda told you that.” He sounded grumpy, and Shelton hooked his arm around his neck in a playful embrace, heart swelling unfamiliar in his chest.

“That’s the problem with you, Sledgehammer.” He murmured, and shook him roughly. “You got too many questions in that head of yours.” 

Eugene scowled at him, and Shelton thought, _honeysuckle, hot tarmac, the sensation of ice cream dripping sticky into the webs of your fingers, moss and grass and clean creek water._ Shelton wasn’t good enough for him because he wasn’t human, because he’d torn people to shreds with his teeth and licked the blood from his muzzle after. He wasn’t no-one Eugene could take home to his parents, not with his too-sharp teeth, fingers smelling of nicotine and rifle oil, bayou caked under his nails and the whine of hunger and anger and hurt always lurking in the back of his throat. 

Eugene pressed his cheek to Shelton’s bicep, the arm still hooked around his neck, and Shelton thought fiercely that he’d protect him no matter what. Until Eugene tired of him, until he had to leave him, until the end of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! comments are always appreciated :^)


	7. Chapter 7

The further they moved into central Okinawa, the more civilians they passed on the road. Mostly women clutching cute, chubby faced children who stared in open amazement at the Marines tramping by them. They didn’t have the same fear the adults did, and the Marines showered them with treats like they were the younger siblings or children they had left at home. The kids liked to hang off Shelton’s fur when he was in his wolf form, and to his and everyone else’s surprise, he let them. He supposed Japanese werewolves are less demonised, or maybe that these kids were just more used to them. He sniffed one once, smelled only human.

“You’re good with kids.” Burgie observed, arms folded as he watched Shelton crouch down to hand a bright faced little girl a candy bar. She grinned and took it from him without hesitation, not shy at all. Shelton felt an uncharacteristic smile pull at his mouth. “You got siblings?”

“All older.” Shelton said, and watched as the little girl ran back to her mother’s skirts, candy held aloft like a prize. “Youngest of seven.”

“Jesus,” Leyden muttered, “That explains a helluva lot.”

Shelton bared his teeth at him, and laughed when Leyden puffed his chest out and attempted a weak growl back. “You make a shitty wolf, Bill Leyden.” He drawled, and hoisted his rifle on his shoulder as their CO called out for them to get back into line. 

“And you make a shitty human, Snafu.” Leyden retorted, eyes crinkling as he grinned. 

Shelton caught Eugene’s eye, and ducked his head at the fondness in his face. He hadn’t kissed him in four days, and he felt the weight of his want like something physical on his shoulders. They fell into line together, and Shelton lit a cigarette, smiled at the brush of Eugene’s pinky to the side of his hand.

War was mostly waiting, until it was not.

Their move south was met with more opposition and a nightmare of mud. Mid-may, the rains started, and they didn’t stop for so long that Shelton felt he would drown on Okinawa before he got to see dry land again. He hated it with a passion: his fur was matted down with mud, making him feel filthy and slow. Worse, it made smells all dampened and indistinct, so he couldn’t even smell Eugene, his pack, or the Dogs through it. 

Burgie got hit by shrapnel in his neck not a week into their venture south. The bright burst of blood like colour in his nostrils made Shelton panic, his paws locked into the boggy ground because he knew if he saw Eugene bleeding again that would be it for him. The wave of relief he felt when he found it was Burgie was repulsive. He was fine, returned to their ragged little pack not three weeks later after a short convalescence, but Shelton couldn’t shake the guilt of his relief for months. 

“I can’t take anymore of this stinking, goddamned, fucking _rain_.” Shelton snarled, every word punctuated by a bucket of muddy water tossed from the dubious base of his and Eugene’s foxhole. Eugene was eyeing him between the gap of his poncho and his helmet, eyes dark in the low light. “Get some fucking sleep.” He snapped, and Eugene’s eyes narrowed.

The area lit up as a star shell burst above them, blinding. The rain looked like silver bullets in the light, slanting downwards towards the earth like daggers. Shelton shivered, drew his poncho tighter around him. A flare lit the area red, reflected off puddles and weapons and helmets, off the wet, tired faces around them. Grimly, Shelton bailed out another bucket full of water.

Eugene couldn’t sleep with the flares and the star shells in the air. Every time one of them flashed he’d jerk awake, eyes shooting straight to where Shelton was crouched hunched and miserable to his side. Making sure he was there. Shelton wanted to push the wet hair off his face, touch him gentle, comfort him in the only way he knew how. 

“Go back to sleep.” His voice was lost to the drum of the rain, but Eugene’s eyes slipped shut anyway and Shelton lost fuck knows how long watching him to make sure he was sleeping. Eugene had gotten skinny, since the rain, since they’d started getting back into the shit. Shelton too, but it didn’t matter as much. Neither of them could stomach food with the stink of the dead and the mud, and it was the least Shelton could do to keep watch while Eugene caught sleep between flare flashes. 

Marching in the rain and mud was absolute hell, and Shelton trudged along with his stupid, fleshy human pack despite the fact that it’d be so much easier on four legs. He couldn’t rationalise why he did it, so he stopped trying to. Self reflection wasn’t a luxury he could afford in wartime, and one he didn’t often entertain in real life besides. Instead, he just kept his face ducked against the driving rain and his eyes on the ground. One boot in front of the other, until the war was over.

Eugene curled so sweetly into him at night, bare head tucked under his chin, that it barely mattered that the rain was so hard that Shelton couldn’t see the men in the foxhole next to them. Horizontal rain, the wind so hard that it snatched star shells from the sky before the light could wash over them. Eugene pressed his cold nose to Shelton’s colder neck, and Shelton thought briefly, crazily, that he’d die for him.

Shelton felt like he was losing parts of himself in all the rain and the mud, sloughing away like snake skin. He thought he could see the same in Eugene. He cried sometimes, under the cover of the rain and into Shelton’s shoulder like a secret, late at night so he couldn’t be seen and so his quiet gasping sobs were drowned out by the drum of rain. It was the killing, Shelton knew, and he wished he could pass a fragment of his war madness onto to Eugene to ease his conscience. 

“I know you’ve never cared.” Eugene muttered, one dark, wet night with the thunder of mortars and bullets in their ears and almost swallowing his words. “You don’t get it.”

Eugene didn’t smell like honeysuckle anymore, and it hurt more than the tear tracks in the dirt on his cheeks. “Y’should’ve known you’d be killin’ people.” Shelton said shortly, curving his hand around Eugene’s jaw as he wiped at the streaked grime on his face fruitlessly. “Shouldn’t be a surprise.”

Eugene’s scowl turned his face ugly in the sporadic light of the flares, shadowed and twisted like the devil. “Never thought it’d be like this.”

Eugene shot a Japanese soldier in the chest with his sidearm the next day, and Shelton watched him get chewed out by his CO through white noise rushing in his ears. Unbidden, the image of the little Japanese girl he’d given candy to swam through his mind. He wondered if she was okay, or whether she was as buried under mud and death as the rest of them. His fingers twitched around his rifle. The wolf inside him wanted out, he could feel its claws in his belly, the snap of its teeth in his chest. It reeled against the borders of his body, fear-angry, and Shelton knew it was only a matter of time before it burst out of him, uncontrollable and snarling for blood.

Okinawa made Eugene wild. The fear and the rain and the death had lit the match, and now he was burning. War had never bothered Shelton like it did the others: he was made for it, he was born in filth and violence and war was just a return to it. In the States, his anger and hatred had no place to go so he turned it inwards, but in the hazy heat of the Pacific he could finally stretch his legs and bare his teeth and taste blood that wasn’t his own. His father had always said he was born under a bad sign, and the more he said it the more Shelton had revelled in it. He used to picture himself as a demon, with terrible teeth and worse eyes. In Okinawa, the demon sang under his skin, made for it.

In the pause between rain, Eugene breathed into the night, “Tell me about your family.” His voice was almost yearning, and Shelton thought about the scratched little letters home, Eugene with his stub of a pencil and his careful cursive. 

_My daddy thought I was the devil,_ he thought. 

A star shell burst above them, washing them all out in greyscale for a heartbeat before it dropped. Shelton drew in a deep breath and pressed his hands to the nape of his neck, head tipped forward, thinking. “I was the only one who got the wolf gene.” He said, finally, voice low so the new recruits over in the next foxhole wouldn’t hear. Nobody knew this, and he wanted Eugene to be the only one. “Me and my mama.”

She had smelled safe to him as a child, safer than his older brothers and his father. He hadn’t know then, but he understood now. The smell of a wolf, of pack, or understanding and love and devotion. There was a reason why he’d always been his mama’s favourite. 

“Out of six brothers?” Eugene asked, like he couldn’t quite believe it. His dark eyes were piercing through the darkness, like he could dissect Shelton apart with just his gaze. 

“Just good luck, I guess.” Shelton said, a sardonic smile tipping his mouth up. Eugene didn’t need to know about what came after his mama died: the punishments whenever he shifted, his brothers treating him like a stranger among them, the way he hardened under the pressure of it all into something mean and vicious and alone. 

“I miss my brother.” Eugene murmured then, tone a little melancholy as he turned his face up to the sky. Shelton watched him silently, chin propped on his knuckles. “He’s in France right now, fightin’ the Nazis.” His accent came heavier when he was tired, or speaking slow. Shelton liked it, the slow, easy drawl.

“Shit weather, over there.” Shelton said, and Eugene’s mouth curved in a grudging smile. “What’d he think of you sittin’ in a foxhole with a werewolf?”

“He wouldn’t believe me.” Eugene said, and huffed out a laugh. Then, “Was it hard?”

“Was what hard?” Shelton asked, and dug in his pocket for his smokes because he knew exactly what Eugene meant. 

“Growing up like that.” Eugene’s eyes shifted back to him, watched him as he lit a smoke and took a long drag from it. 

“It weren’t easy.” Shelton said shortly, mind skipping over alleyways and blood and mistrust in his brothers’ eyes. “Ain’t never easy bein’ an outsider in your own home.”

Eugene was silent for a long time, the only noises the rattle of bullets splitting the night air. The rain started back up, and Shelton tugged his poncho close to his neck, ducking his head against it. 

“What about your mom?” Eugene asked, and Shelton closed his eyes. The barrel of his rifle was solid under his fingers, and he focused on that instead of the wave of hurt that broke through him. He couldn’t find his voice until it ebbed, close to the barriers of his body, always there.

“She died.” He murmured, not trusting his voice. If his childhood had taught him anything, it was that weakness was not something to be shown. Not even to those he trusted. His cigarette was getting wet in the rain, so he took a long drag off of it to stop it going out. The ember glowed bright in the darkness, and he hoped that his expression was neutral in the light it cast. 

“I’m sorry,” Eugene said immediately, and Shelton wrinkled his nose at the knee jerk response. “What was she like?”

Shelton pressed the heel of his hand to his nose, fingers crooked so his cigarette didn’t burn him. “She used to peddle witchcraft to tourists.” He said, and huffed against his palm. “She was real good at it, taught me some too.”

Eugene’s voice was amused when he asked, “Can you read my fortune?”

Shelton grinned against his wrist, a deep well of sadness opening up in his chest as he considered it. Finally, he murmured, “You’re goin’ to live to a good old age, meet a tall dark man an' have lotsa lovely little babies.” His mother’s words in his mouth, a mocking recital.

“That ain’t real.” Eugene said, dismissive, and Shelton resurfaced to take a drag off his damp cigarette. Eugene was curled into a mess of arms and legs and the deadly dark shape of his rifle against the wall of the hole. Shelton’s chest ached.

“Ask me again when I’m drunk.” He bit out, and flicked his wet cigarette into the mud around their feet, a swift rejection of the subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i'm gonna start updating twice a week now, as i'm moving out of my apartment to go travelling the US for a little while, and updates will be sporadic after that.


	8. Chapter 8

Eugene turned meaner the further they went down south. He didn’t throw dirty glances at Shelton for winding the recruits up anymore, just snapped at them in a tone which shut down all conversation for good. Shelton watched him warily, keeping him in his line of sight in case he decided to do something stupid with his new war madness. The gentle, red faced recruit from Pavuvu was gone, and this new Eugene was biting and sharp and worst of all; dispassionate about killing. 

The two of them had a short, horrible fight the night that Hamm died. Screaming into the wind, their words being whipped away from them, ponchos flapping around them as they hefted crates half their war-starved weight. Eugene’s face was ugly in the sporadic light of the flares, twisted into something Shelton didn’t recognise and didn’t want to. He could feel the same evil ugliness under his skin, the same terror and anger warping his face into a mirror image of Eugene’s. His joints felt loose with the half shift he’d crept into without realising, but Eugene didn’t know when to stop.

“You don’t even _belong_ here.” Eugene yelled over the wind and the rain, the thudding of mortars, in retaliation to something Shelton said but couldn’t remember. The anger whipped words out of him faster than he could process them, and he let them spiral away from him as he screamed into the teeth of the gale.

“What, and you do?” Shelton snapped, and they were toe to toe now, the kids watching on as they stared each other down. _Pack_ , Shelton thought, _the smell of wildflowers and hot tarmac_. “You’re better off playing rich boy under daddy’s thumb than you are playing Marine here.” It left his mouth quicker than he could think it, and he snarled a smile at Eugene as his mouth tightened into a flat, angry line. The crates lay beside them, forgotten, the rain drumming down on the mortars. Shelton thought about Eugene’s hand on his jaw, his mouth on his, and his snarl deepened. 

“Better a rich boy than a fucking _wolf_.” Eugene cried, and bent to pick up a crate in a whirl of anger. Shelton let him, the rush of hate under his skin familiar and almost euphoric. A return to something he had begun to let go.

“You’re just like the fuckin’ rest of them!” He spit into the wind, and he watched Eugene’s back as he stamped away, broad shouldered and solid and so fucking doomed. Shelton spat on the ground, cigarette smoke and unwashed teeth, and followed like the loyal fucking dog he was.

Neither of them apologised, but Eugene accepted the mug of lukewarm, shitty coffee that Shelton thrust at him later that night with a nod. His hands were white knuckled around the dented tin, and Shelton waited until he took a sip to take a seat next to him. 

“You two done?” Burgie asked, and Shelton just grunted. Eugene’s words still stung, a tiny pain amongst all the other pains. 

“We’re good.” Eugene said, voice tight and quick in that funny way he had. He didn’t look at Shelton, eyes on the mug between his hands, but he pressed his knee to Shelton’s and kept it there. In increments, Shelton relaxed, balled the pain up and buried in down deep with the rest of it, not to be touched again. His teeth ached in his jaw, his hands alien around his rifle as his body burned to shift.

\------

The weather turned warm and dry as they passed the central part of the island, approaching the true southern end. The artillery got heavier too, and the thudding of mortars, the rattle of machine guns, the popping of rifles became almost like white noise after a while. Or maybe Shelton was just going finally, thankfully, deaf.

They passed through destroyed villages in the day, quiet as they took in the ruins of buildings. The heat made the air shimmer, made it all seem like a dream, a hallucination. 

“Everything feels ancient here.” Eugene murmured, one early morning in the hazy pale light of dawn. His eyes were sad under his tattered helmet, and he pushed it back off his face. “Even the light.”

Shelton looked around at the rubble, the land rolling out below them; green and war-blasted just like themselves, the light sprawling slow and sticky over the valleys like it had all the time in the world. _He’s right_ , Shelton thought, catching sight of a child-sized tabi sandal partially buried under a half-collapsed wall. _We shouldn’t be here_.

He didn’t say it out loud, just flicked his cigarette butt to the ground and drawled, “No shit, Sherlock,” and grinned at the disgruntled set of Eugene’s mouth.

His luck in staying mostly undetected among the human troops ran out as they passed into the southernmost part of the island. He had been crouched with L’Eau, Leyden and Burgie, Eugene off to the side as they smoked and swapped stories. Halfway through Leyden’s dramatic retelling of a scrape with a subway car, Shelton caught the scent of wolf on the breeze and popped his head up, alert.

His CO, Simms, was a small man and he knew it, and had a tendency to yell as if that would make him seem larger. Shelton braced himself for annoyance as he saw him approach. 

“Sir.” He said, just slow enough to project a little insolence into the word. He tipped his helmet back with his thumb, considering standing just to piss off Simms more than he already was. His ruddy face was blotchy, nothing like Eugene’s delicate, well-bred flush. 

“What division are you from, Marine?” He asked, and Shelton grinned. Simms knew as well as he did what division he was from: he just wanted to make him say it so he could chew him out.

“K Company, sir.” He said, and caught Eugene giving him a tired glance. His grin stretched. Simms gave him a once-over, a frown creasing his brow.

“What _division_.” He asked, voice cold. Shelton didn’t say anything, just took a drag off his cigarette and waited. Simms rolled his eyes. “Get back to your fucking post, Dog.”

Shelton did, not straight away because that would have meant submitting, but he made his way back on his own time and he smoked a cigarette while he did it. The Dogs were all worked up over something, Shelton could smell it as soon as he stepped within a ten foot radius of them. He wrinkled his nose. Somehow, even Eugene with his stink of mud and sweat and human smelt better than Shelton’s so-called pack. 

“What’s the good news?” Shelton drawled, fetching up against a Dog he vaguely recognised and by default probably didn’t like. 

“Night missions.” He said automatically, an East coast twang to his voice, and then he did a double take, brows furrowed.

“Humans got better chow,” Shelton said by way of explanation, and grinned at the expression on the Dog’s face. “What’s this ‘bout night missions?”

The Dog gave him a long once over, from the top of his head to his boots, and then glanced away. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, sharp and a little feral. “They want us moving at night.” He said, and when he turned back his eyes were lit with excitement. “The enemy’s finally got their own wolves out.”

“We knew ‘bout that weeks ago.” Shelton said dismissively, and tugged his smokes out of his pocket as he half-turned away. “Ain’t no news. Ain’t nothing to get us movin’ through the dark for, that’s for crazy people and the enemy.”

“Nah, they took down a few members of First Battalion last night.” His packmate said, and Shelton squinted at the name stitched to his shirt. _Holden_ , like the actor. He took a drag off his cigarette and regarded him curiously.

“Killed any?” He asked, and at Holden’s tilted head he added, “Humans.”

“Sure.” Holden said carelessly. “Took ‘em down as easy as we take them down.”

“Huh.” Shelton said, and took a thoughtful drag off his smoke as he mused on that. He would’ve been pretty goddamn amused at that small irony a few months ago, before Eugene and Burgie, before Peleliu. Now, he thought about some Japanese wolf getting his teeth around Eugene’s neck and he felt his blood boil to the surface. 

“Hey,” Holden said, like an afterthought, and Shelton slid his gaze his way silently. “So you’re the wolf with the human pet?”

“Fuck off.” Shelton muttered, rolling his eyes as he stood to leave. Fucking wolves and their fucking grapevine.

\------

The Dogs got sent ahead of the human troops, and Shelton didn’t care to sit and mull over why that was exactly. Didn’t make sense that they were more expendable, but the whole damn war didn’t make sense and Shelton wasn’t getting paid to ask questions: he was getting paid to kill people. 

So he did.

Night saw them creeping through dried up rice paddies and cane fields, the ridges silhouetted against the night sky. It looked too much like Peleliu for comfort, especially through the darkness, and it made his hackles rise. His breath was loud and ragged in his ears, and he thought he could smell the hot burst of Eugene’s blood, but knew it wasn’t real.

The Okinawans had retreated back up into their ridges, clinging to caves like it was their last hope against the American sea of olive drab. Shelton wanted to commend them for never giving up, but found it hard to dredge it up when they came out of the darkness for him, yelling and brandishing their little pistols.

The sensation of biting through skin - resistance and then nothing, meat parting around his fangs and a wash of black blood like iron, now _that_ was something he could dredge up a little feeling for. He was the rifle and he was the bullet, the powder and the ignition and he never ran empty. 

It was a clear, moonlit night when Shelton and his pack encountered Japanese wolves in the flesh. He smelt them before he saw them: wolf but foreign, so sharply different that it made his fur bristle along his back. His pack were tense, watching the trees, ears pricked for every snapping twig and roll of loose rock. Shelton’s heart was thudding under his breastbone, equal parts anticipation and fear. The wolf in him didn’t often know fear, and it set him on edge. The stink of unfamiliar werewolves was heavy and wrong in his nose.

Then, they came. Slipping out of the caves and the ridges, moonlight on their dark fur and lips pulled back in a white snarl. Shelton felt something primal rise in him at the sight of them, the smell of the enemy wolves so deeply foreign and different that he almost felt comforted by his pack around him. 

They were frozen at an impasse for a moment, the tension and suspense bubbling over in the space they stood. It was impossible to tell how many wolves there were, how many were hidden back in the rocky outcrops of the ridges. Shelton was shaking, longing to move like the shot we was and _take them down_.

Then one of the enemy wolves sprang, and as one, Shelton and his pack uncoiled with the force of weeks of anticipation behind them.

The Japanese wolves were smaller, sleeker, faster: closer to Shelton’s size than the rest of the American wolves. They knew the terrain and they moved together better than Shelton’s ragtag pack, but they weren’t brutal like they had been trained to be. Shelton caught one around the throat, and they went tumbling down onto the dusty ground in a mess of teeth and claws. 

It was a goddamn _rush_. Humans died too easy, they dropped their weapons and went limp before Shelton could really get his teeth into the fight. The Japanese wolf was snarling loud, body like a whip as they grappled for the upper hand. Dimly, Shelton registered the wolf’s teeth sinking into his flank, the tear of muscle and the scent of his own blood, but it only spurred him on further. Panting, blood-slick and riding high on adrenaline and pure and utter blood lust, he pinned the wolf under him and growled right in its face. The wolf’s eyes were wide, white against the dark fur, and its lip curled before it lunged forward to snap at his face. Internally, Shelton revelled in it. The feeling of complete dissociation from the man he had been was overwhelming, and the hot, salty spray of arterial blood that drenched his face when he sank his fangs into the other wolf’s neck felt like a baptism.

He turned from the wolf’s dead body, and sprang into the night for more, reborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!! like i said, i'm gonna update more frequently as i won't be around much to update soon! i only think there's a couple more chapters to this - one or two at the most - so keep ur eyes peeled :^)
> 
> i'm getmean on tumblr if u wanna keep up with it!


	9. Chapter 9

Daylight revealed deep claw marks across his torso, a sizeable chunk taken out of the meat of his thigh that was already beginning to knit together. He’d barely paid it any mind the previous night, too drunk on wolf blood and adrenaline, but his leg shook under him in his human form, the claw marks pulling with every breath he took.

“You’re a goddamn stupid _bastard_.” Eugene said, for the tenth time since Shelton had dragged his sorry self over to their camp. He was stress smoking, pacing back and forth as Shelton tried his hardest not to move, or breathe, or do _anything_. “Corpsman!” He yelled again, and shot Shelton a dirty look like it was his fault the medic was taking so long. Shelton grinned weakly and Eugene just rolled his eyes.

He was covered in dried blood, dark and flaky and streaking him from head to toe. Burgie’s eyes had just about bugged out of his goddamn head at the sight of him, and Eugene had been fear-angry since. Anxiety rolled off him in waves, and Shelton found himself almost grateful for the calm return of Burgie a little while later, corpsman in tow.

“I told you,” Shelton said, and pointed at the corpsman. “I don’t need it.”

“Shut up, Snafu.” Burgie said amicably, and jerked his head in Shelton’s direction as the corpsman hesitated. “Don’t worry, he won’t bite.”

“Like hell I won’t.” Shelton shot back, the effect of the words lost as he winced as he attempted to sit up. “I’m _healin’_ , lemme be.”

“I’ll write you up for disobeying a direct order, Snafu.” Burgie said, and grinned when Shelton bared his teeth at him, annoyed. “C’mon, settle mine and Gene’s minds. Don’t want you gettin’ gangrene.”

“I ain’t gonna get gangrene.” Shelton muttered, but let the corpsman come up to him and begin checking his wounds. It hurt, his hands not particularly gentle as he poked around at his thigh. “Jesus,” He said, and threw out his hand to touch the back of his fingers to Eugene’s shin. “Gimme a smoke, Sledgehammer?”

Eugene’s eyes softened, and he dug around in his pocket for Shelton’s battered pack of Lucky Strikes and handed them to him. After a moment, he folded himself up and sat down next to him, knees hugged to his chest as he watched the corpsman shake sulfa all over Shelton’s thigh. Shelton lit his cigarette in the lull, breathed out slow and tried to not react to the pain in his side. 

“You should be on the first ship home.” Eugene said, distant, and Shelton snorted.

“We don’t get that privilege unless a limb is hangin’ off, I guess.” He shook his head. “Can’t even get any damn morphine.”

“Rough.” Eugene muttered, and Shelton patted his knee consolingly. 

“It was fun, though.” He said, and hissed as the corpsman tested the edges of his healing claw marks. “Easy, ‘s a work in progress.”

Shelton finished two cigarettes by the time the corpsman had him bandaged up, and Eugene had stayed silent the whole time. Eugene’s weight against his side reminded him of a very different injury in a very similar place, the smell of death and the feel of coral cutting into his paws. He shifted uncomfortably, tried to think of any way to comfort Eugene.

Before he could offer any awkward, half baked words of comfort, Eugene muttered, “So, you gonna turn into a werewolf now?”

There was a beat of silence, and then Shelton barked out a laugh so abruptly that he choked on smoke. It pulled at the still-tender, healing skin of his side, and he yelped, curled into a ball, kept laughing. “Oh, you bastard.” He said, breathless, and Eugene was grinning all pleased and amused as he watched. “Am I gonna turn into a werewolf my _ass_ , Sledgehammer. Jesus, I hate it when you try an’ be funny.”

“Ain’t tryin’.” Eugene murmured, and his grin widened. “Seems to be workin’, besides.”

“Shut the hell up, ya gonna make me pull my stitches.” Shelton retorted, and righted himself with a wince. He put his cigarette out on his boot, and the two of them watched him flick it away towards a group of new recruits.

“You ain’t got any stitches, you wouldn’t let him.” Eugene said good-naturedly, and leaned against Shelton’s shoulder. He still stank of fear, and Shelton worked an arm around his shoulder, pressed his face into his temple for a second before breaking away.

“Damn right I didn’t.” He said, and Eugene glanced away, shoulders hunched under Shelton’s arm. “I’d heal quicker than it’d take to sew me back up.” When Eugene didn’t reply, he shook him, said in a softer voice, “Really, I’m fine.”

“Just had a scare.” Eugene said brusquely, eyes on his hands. He was twisting that ring around his finger, a nervous tic Shelton had picked up on however the fuck long ago, back in Peleliu. “Didn’t expect you to get hurt. You never do.”

“I ain’t invincible, Sledge.” Shelton said, a little amused. “Cannon fodder just like the rest’a ya.”

“I _know_.” Eugene said, and turned to look at him, brown eyes all big and sad in his head. Shelton wanted to kiss him more than he was afraid of what would happen if others saw. He’d pushed it with putting his face into Eugene’s hair, though, and for nothing. No trace of the scent of that green recruit back on Pavuvu was gone. Shelton’s heart hurt with it. “Don’t go fightin’ werewolves for a little while.” Eugene added, and touched the back of his hand to Shelton’s fingers, brief. 

Shelton was saved from answering by Leyden and L’Eau strolling up, grinning like they were ready to have a go at Shelton for getting his ass handed to him. Eugene shrugged off the arm around his shoulder, and Shelton busied himself with lighting another cigarette to hide his hurt. Stupid.

“Lookin’ a little worse for wear, Snafu.” Leyden’s grin was a mile wide, and Shelton just raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Shoulda seen the other guy.” He muttered, and grinned lazy slow when the two men laughed. Viscera on black fur shines slick in the moonlight. Shelton took a drag off his cigarette, the taste of blood a memory on his tongue. 

\------

The mood remained low for the remainder of the campaign, no matter how sunny it got the further they moved towards the south end of the island. The constant inevitability of death hung over their heads like a dark cloud. Eugene was becoming disconnected, Burgie was slipping into a leadership role he suited but didn’t seem to take much pleasure from, Leyden had been sent back stateside courtesy of a million dollar wound, and L’Eau was as stubbornly alive as he’d ever been. 

Shelton was sure that he’d never get off the goddamn island alive. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

The incident with the wolf wasn’t what cemented that so deeply in his mind. It was the long marches, the constant death, the killing and the dehydration and the look on the faces of his newfound, stupidly human pack. Going back home would mean attempting to fit the too large shape of himself, his war-mad self, into the place he’d left behind. He imagined moving back to New Orleans, getting a fucking job and doing that until he goddamn died of smoking too much, and the thought made him sick. Like seasickness, tugging at his belly every time he pictured settling down with a girl, having a house, kids, the whole nine yards. He’d never been suited for that, he’d always been one step to the left of normal society, and he was even further gone now.

How was he supposed to go back to it when he spent more time as a wolf than a man? Maybe he had finally become the devil his father had always said he was.

Sometimes, he’d kiss Eugene under the cover of night and think: this is what he had to live through the war for.

Then, the war ended. Just like that. Roosevelt dropped the bomb, and Shelton was sure he could practically hear the shockwaves from where he stood. 

“It doesn’t feel real.” Eugene mumbled, their ragged little group standing around dumbly digesting the news, so much smaller in number than they’d started out. Shelton scrubbed a hand through his hair, mind curiously blank. “How’re we s’posed to just go home?”

“We’re clearing up shit around here for a little while yet.” Burgie said, his brusque sergeant voice on. Shelton gave him a sidelong look, took in his set jaw and drawn brows, and glanced away. The others were celebrating, but none of them had found it in them to get into it. Third campaign slump indeed. He felt tired down to his fucking bones.

“I’m gonna get home and eat a big old steak.” L’Eau announced, out of the blue, and Shelton found it in himself to laugh at that.

“Nothin’ else, Jay?” He asked, and L’Eau shrugged.

“Kiss my ma, I guess.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “But that steak’s a priority. Only so much maggoty rice a man can take.”

“True that.” Shelton murmured agreeably, settling back against a stone wall and resting his hands on his belly. He’d joined the Marines for their maggoty rice, of course, but nobody had to know that.

“How ‘bout you, Sledgehammer?” L’Eau asked, and Shelton closed his eyes, tried to tune out Eugene’s answer as best he could. He felt vaguely disconnected from the talk of _after_. He’d never even considered that the war would end and he’d still be standing. The fact that he was here, at the end of it all, alive and uninjured save a few new scars: it was impossible.

“Snafu?” Burgie’s voice, vaguely concerned, and Shelton snapped out of his head enough to begin digging through his dungarees for his smokes.

“Present.” He murmured, offhand, and smirked mostly for show when L’Eau snorted.

“Got any plans?” Burgie asked, and Shelton fumbled with his smokes at the question. He should have been expecting it, really.

“Nah.” He said, quiet, and drew his knees to his chest. “No big plans over here.”

There was a beat of awkward silence, which Shelton gritted his teeth through until L’Eau picked up back on his dream steak. Shelton retreated back into himself, fiddling with his lighter as he smoked silently.

He shouldn’t be finding the end of the war so goddamn depressing, but that was life. He’d return to his shitty apartment in New Orleans, either bullshit his way through rent like he used to or get a menial job he’d work at till he died. His pack would scatter their way across the states, and maybe he’d see them on holidays or maybe never at all. He’d never been one for keeping in touch.

He thought of kissing Eugene under the shade of a palm tree, the sand hot against his bare skin, the curve of a smile against his hand, and let himself feel the pain that came with it. Catharsis, or something close to it. Maybe just plain old self harm. 

Eugene pressed his shoulder to his, then, touched his pinky to the outer seam of Shelton’s dungarees so gentle he barely registered it. Shelton looked up, and Eugene was backlit by the waning sun, the fading light casting him in its rosy light like a caress. He was clean, he was whole, his eyes hollow and shadowed but he was smiling real soft and Shelton thought, _pack_.

Maybe there was something right in that, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading!! this was so fun to write and i rly appreciate all the kind words u guys have had for this fic :^)


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